


Breaks and bleeds

by cuneifire (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Female Draco Malfoy, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Genderbending, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cuneifire
Summary: When she's sixteen, she cuts her hair.





	Breaks and bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> Why, you may ask, have I not changed Draco’s name to a more fitting feminine form? Because I’m lazy, that’s why. And I like it.
> 
> Also, I haven't' read hp in years so uh... hope this makes sense? idk tell me if it doesn't.

When she’s sixteen, she cuts her hair. Until then it’d always been of acceptable length, past her shoulders and just brushing her back. Long and fine and paler than the sun itself, and Draco had loved it. It’d been almost exactly like her mother’s, and never had Draco wanted anything more than to follow in her family’s footsteps.

When she was little, her father would always tell her to keep it that way, and she did. She was a Malfoy, and half of being what you were was looking the part (the other half was believing it, but she figured that’d come later, if she looked it long enough). She’d never once even thought to take a knife to the bright silvery strands that were always somehow in the way, no matter how she tied, pinned, spelled, and on one unfortunate occasion- gelled it.

But in sixth year that changes. In sixth year the Manor had more than just family in it, people cloaked in shadows that even Draco can’t touch, all who wear dark black skull marks with pride and a bruising glint to their eyes.

In sixth year her father tells her “This is your duty-” and her mother won’t meet her eyes.

In sixth year Draco steps forwards and kneels as the Dark Lord marks her, and it hurts enough she doesn’t sleep that night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that. She still can’t figure out how she managed not to scream. In sixth year, Draco joins the glorious cause and takes on her father’s mantle, listens carefully as she’s told what to do, nods, and her smile may shake but no one else will notice, because she’s a Malfoy and if there is one thing that comes first for Draco it is family. (She keeps looking back to that night, trying and trying and trying to figure out who she was before it and if she’s any different now, because the mark changed how she looks and that should mean she’s different, she should be braver now, more dedicated, a better daughter.)

In sixth year Draco is given a task, on the pain of her life.

She accepts.

And in sixth year she fails, again and again and again, every moment, every time she thinks  _maybe there is a way out_ and  _I don’t_ want  _this,_ every time she tells herself she’ll look tomorrow, because she’s  _weak,_ she  _useless_ and  _she’s a coward_ and _she will not ruin her family_ -

And it ends with her in Myrtle’s bathroom, knife poised over her wrist, he lighting painful as it flickers over her hair, too too bright. She dips the blade down, looking to the matching scars across her wrists. She thinks she could add to her collection, but the silvery glint of her hair distracts her. 

Her mother used to braid it, when she was young and nothing mattered. Her father and all the old Lords used to praise her for it, and she would spend hours pulling a brush through because she could never quite master the spellwork, and because she'd never had the courage to tell them it hindered her more than it helped.

She pulls the tie on her hair and lets it fall from its tight wound braid, down past the shoulders. She tugs at the edges.

“Draco, -” Myrtle’s voice gets drowned out by the noise in her head as she brings the blade to her ear and slices down. She cuts down the left side first, hands shaking as she moves onto the right. It’s uneven and clumsy and she looks down and it all falls to the floor and everything feels just a bit lighter.

In her sixth year, she cuts her hair, and she could swear her arm was burning the entire time.

And in her sixth year, Hayley Potter bursts in through the door and Draco doesn’t even care enough to pull out her fucking wand. Because of  _course_ it'd be Potter, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Of course it'd be Potter of all people to catch her at her absolute lowest. That's just the type of luck she's been handed. 

 She barely cares enough to pull down her sleeve, but she does; quick buttons, all in neat succession. Her eyes stay fixed on the floor and the knife stays in her hand.

“Morning, Potter. Or is it night?” She knows Potter’s staring. She doesn’t care.

“Not a bloody fucking word about it, you hear me.” She says again, but she may as well be talking to a wall, and when she looks up all Draco can see is that Potter’s catching flies. She would smirk.

“-Malfoy.” Potter finally settles on.

“As articulate as always,” Draco says, eyes back on the floor. Her hair is bunched in clumps. She remembers, in Sephia toned vision, her mother giving her her first hairbrush. Her heart rate is slowly falling, or maybe it’s speeding too fast for her to process and she’ll die in a minute. And best of all, only  _Potter_ will be here to see it. What bloody fine irony. 

She drops the knife. It clatters loudly against the floor, echoing through the bathroom and landing next to the bits of her hair.

She doesn’t cast a spell to pick it up. Let them know. Let this one secret not need protecting.

“Out of my way, Potter.” She says, steeling her voice and raising her chin.

Potter, ignores her (when has she ever listened), grabbing Draco by the elbow and spinning her til they’re facing, so close their noses nearly touch.

Draco tensed, expecting a blow.

But Potter just talks.

“I always liked your hair, you know? Only good thing about you.” She snorts, but won’t meet Draco’s eyes. Draco shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull her wrist from Potter's grip. It's her right wrist- there's no mark, but there are scars she'd just about rather die than have anyone- nevermind Potter- see. 

“Guess you’ll just have to hate me entirely, then.” She says before the words fully form in her mind.

She strides from the doorway, past Potter. The hallway is deserted.

She turns to glare at Potter. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Potter looks confused. “This?” She waves a hand back at the bathroom.

Draco nods and doesn’t wait for Potter’s approval. It doesn't matter anyway. 

In sixth grade she cuts her hair, because it’s the only thing she can think to do and not risk losing her life for it.


End file.
